Regret
by WynBird
Summary: Hawke knows two things. First, if she and her friends don't run hard and fast, they're all dead. Second, Anders is never getting anywhere near her heart again. But when legendary Grey Warden Joseph Amell is sent to hunt them down, everyone will have to decide what's really worth fighting for... and how much they're willing to sacrifice in the name of justice. Post DA2. Crit welcome
1. Haunted

Athena

* * *

_"Maybe, just maybe, getting involved with a possessed mage might be dangerous. There: I've said my piece…"_

_._

_"I'll break your heart..."_

.

A blinding red light. A vision of the Chantry, and Kirkwall with it, crumbling to ruins amid fire and smoke. The bloodcurdling screams of the dying, and the dead...

_._

_"We can't always predict the outcome of our actions…"_

.

Ostagar. The signal fire. The flanking charge that never came...

.

_"There can be no half measures…"_

_"Anders, what have you done?"_

_._

_"I love you."_

_._

A great dragon with scales of wine red, black ichor dripping from its talons, tongues of fire licking up its jaws...

.

_"…There can be no peace."_

_._

The world goes dark…

.

_"When the time comes for your regrets… _remember me._"_

* * *

I became aware of something cold and hard digging into my side. Grudgingly, and still in a sleepy sort of stupor, I tried to roll over, assuming I'd gone to bed without unbuckling my sword belt. There was a warm, thick blanket over me and a pillow under my neck. Concern that I might be anywhere but home did not surface, at first.

But then my shifting elbow rammed into something sharp. Like jagged stone.

Okay. I didn't keep any giant rocks beside my bed… did I?

Other senses began to strain as consciousness reclaimed them. A whispering echo was drifting through the room. The air was earthy, dank, decayed smelling; and there was no familiar trace of dried herbs or woodsmoke. My mouth was dry, my muscles were stiff, and I was definitely laying on rocky ground, not a comfortable bed. This couldn't be home. Unless I'd died and been reborn as a glow-worm. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

My eyes opened to cold, palpable, suffocating darkness.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

_Deep breath, Athena_, I told myself, feeling my throat constrict to choke the fear that rose up like bile. _Isn't that what you do when you think you might be dead? Breathe first, then sit up. If you can breathe you're still alive… Are you breathing?_ My body was so tense it was difficult, even painful to draw in air. But I _could_ do it.

Not dead… Then, _where_ was I? Why didn't I remember coming here?

Placing my palms firmly against the ground on either side, I tried to sit up. The motion pulled the blanket away, and I realized nothing covered me but my smallclothes. Instinctively I reached back down to pull the covering up, even though I was in a pitch-black room and appeared to be alone. My fingers wrapped around a mass of silky feathers. Surprised, I ran my hand further down the blanket, and realized it wasn't a blanket at all. It was a coat. More specifically, it was Anders' black, feather-pauldroned renegade coat.

Anders.

Suddenly, everything came flooding back. The argument, the explosion, the burning city. Screams piercing the night air from all directions. Death piling up around me, at every turn, in every corner. The blood. _So much blood_ – running in dark little rivers down the steps, pooling in the street, dripping off my blade.

His empty, dreadful ultimatum: _"There can be no peace."_

I flung the jacket away with a hysterical cry, as if it carried the blight. The motion aggravated a tightly bound injury on my waist, which brought on a heavy wave of nausea.

Oh, right; I'd been stabbed, too.

The terrible visions assaulted me in equal measure to the physical pain, and I was forced to relive the agony of every horrifying, gut-wrenching moment at once. I shut my eyes again, tightly, desperately. Which was stupid, because the visions were in my head and there was no escaping them, as long as I lived.

* * *

After that, I must have passed out again. Because otherwise I was suddenly laying down next to a warm, roaring fire, with a wet rag over my forehead, a throbbing headache, and no reasonable explanation.

The coat had been replaced by some unidentifiable fabric. The spread was threadbare and putrid smelling. But it was a hundred times more endurable.

It was hard to think, and harder to move. At least I felt calmer now, if only because I was too dizzy to feel anything else. Still, resisting the urge to get up with all haste and look around was difficult. I had to remind myself it would be smarter to take things slowly. Another bout of unconsciousness would definitely not be a progressive step forward.

Without turning my head, I let my eyes roam the room. Correction: cavern. With the firelight to assist, I could now see that I was in a great limestone cavity. Stalactites dripped from the ceiling, about fifteen meters up. In the corners, glow worms spread their sticky, bioluminescent strings between the structures. The creatures would have provided light even in total darkness, so I had to be in a chamber other than the one where I first came-to. That meant one of two things: In addition to almost dying, I'd developed an ability to sleepwalk, or someone else had moved me.

Something shifted to left of the fire. "Ooh… It's been hours. Do you think she'll wake back up soon? Are you _sure_ she didn't hit her head?"

Merrill. Her trill voice was unmistakable.

"Patience", Aveline's voice chided gently. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Shouldn't we tell–"

"No." The response was too short to belong to anyone but Fenris.

"There's nothing to tell, yet", Aveline tried to explain, "She's still not awake."

"But she _was_ awake", Merrill insisted quietly. I was finding it difficult not to smile, despite myself. The pleasure faded as the young elf continued, "He's still a healer. He might know about something we should do… or not do. And he's her husband. We should let him know she's started coming around, shouldn't we? Anders had been _sooo_ worried, after all… he tries not show it, but he might as well try pretending his arm hadn't been chopped off, if it had. I know he still cares about her. Even if you don't like him, Fenris, you can't–"

It sounded like Fenris slammed something onto the ground – a cup, or an armored fist. "If _you_ wish to seek him out on the coast, _you_ may do so! Go! I'll take no more of this incessant prattle!"

"Ca-an't the r-est of you get on f-or a, f-few hours… without me?" I was startled by how raw and shaky my voice sounded. It was truly a wonder the others heard it at all. Dying men, their chests crushed by mauls, had spoken to me with less hoarseness.

"Athena!", Merrill squealed happily.

"M-errill", I returned, trying to twist my neck so that I could see her face.

"_Thank_ the Maker." Aveline was at my shoulder in an instant, removing the washcloth and putting a hand over my forehead to check for fever. Satisfied, she lifted me carefully into her lap so that I could see my companions without strain. "You gave us a right good scare, Hawke."

"They, say I, have a… t-alent, for that." My eyes sought Fenris.

He was kneeling before me, looking relieved, "I am… glad, to see that you're well."

Merrill was still beside herself, "Ohh, I _knew_ you would come back to us!"

The headache made me wince. "H-ow, l-long have I…?"

"You've been unconscious for seven days", Aveline answered. She anticipated the next question, and spared me the difficulty of putting it into words. "We've taken shelter in some caves along the Wounded Coast, not far from where you fell. A handful of patrols have been through the area, but so far it seems they're more concerned with cleaning up the city than hunting us down. Even if it were otherwise, this place is defensible and out of the way, and there's more than one exit. We only move outside at night, when there's no chance of being caught. Rest easy, Hawke. Everything's under control."

I closed my eyes, "Wh-ere, are the... others?"

"Varric and Donnic are keeping watch outside. Bethany and Anders are somewhere along the coast, looking for food, and herbs to make into a salve for your wounds. They'll be back by dawn. That's in a couple of hours."

"A-anders is, s-till here?" I wasn't sure how to feel about that. My stutter, however, was extremely frustrating.

"He has remained present. To everyone's surprise and great displeasure", Fenris explained sulkily.

"Not mine", Merrill shot back, sounding defensive. "I was sure he would stay – for Hawke."

_For me_, I thought bitterly. As if, after everything he had done, Anders believed I was still stupid enough to bare my heart to him. It was insulting. But maybe I had that coming. He had tricked me into helping him with his plot to raze Kirkwall, after all. I'd followed the fiend as blithely as a lamb to the slaughter. Afterwards, when the blood began to run, and the horrible truth came to light, when justice had been my own to administer, I'd failed to exact retribution. There's was no denying _that_ moral failure. Quite simply: I _could_ have killed Anders. I _should_ have killed Anders. But I didn't.

Then exactly what Aveline had just said hit me. "W-w-wait", I stammered, beginning to feel incredibly sick again, "_J-ust_ Bethany, and, Ander-s?"

"Y-_es_…", came her reply. She sounded confused.

"Are you feeling alright, Athena?", Merrill asked, "You look very pale suddenly. Maybe you should lie back down."

I forced myself completely upright, drawing on my rapidly kindling anger for the strength to do so, and faced Aveline with a furious glare, "Y-you let, Be-thany go, in-to the w-wilder-ness, al_-one_ with that, _ab-omin-ation_?"

There was a sort of stupefied silence. I felt my pulse spiking under my ribs.

"We've been more concerned about you", the captain explained defensively. It was obviously the only reasonable excuse she could come up with. "Besides. Bethany's no child. She knows how to take care of herself as well as any of us."

"So it t-akes th-th-…_three_ of y-you to sit, ar-round, ke-eeping an eye on, me, while I'-m un-con-scious? … A-nd _nobody_ th-th-thought it would, be a, g-ood id-dea to s-end s-omeone with my_ s-ister,_ and the poss-poss-… _possessed_ mal_-e_-_ficar_, who, nearly, des-_troyed_, Kirkwall!?", I demanded, pulling away from Aveline's hand as she tried to grab me. The burly woman seemed hesitant to use any real force against my emaciated frame.

Instead she tried to reason with me. "You need to calm down, Hawke. You're too weak to–"

"_I w-ill n-ot, calm. DOWN_!", I cried, trembling violently, "E-everything is _n-ot under, control!_ I h-ave to f-find her– I have to, _go_–" This was more than the anemic skeleton I'd become could take. A brutal fit of coughing ensued. The pain was excruciating, and for a moment I thought – even hoped – I might pass out again. My body curled inward as every heave sent waves of agony rippling from the stab wound in my gut. My head seemed likely to implode on itself and the air was filled with a sharp ringing sound that blocked out almost everything else.

I did manage to hear Aveline's rather petulant exclamation of _"Shit!"_

Then, there was a hand on my shoulder – not rough, but firm – and someone was pulling me against their chest. I thought it was the guard captain, but was no longer in any position to fight. Crippled by the bout of coughing, all I could do was keep my eyes shut and endure.

Several still minutes passed before the ringing in my ears lapsed into a dull throbbing that beat in time to my weakly pounding heart. I was trembling all over, and hesitant to risk speaking again for fear of another attack.

"Hawke –. _Athena_…" I was startled by the deep voice of Fenris in my ear, and, looking over, I realized he was the one who was holding me upright, not Aveline. The elf warrior's moss green eyes were wide and full of concern, his dark eyebrows knit together under messy white hair, "Can you hear me, my friend?"

I gave a weak nod in reply, reduced as I was to a whimpering invalid.

"It's all right." These were strange words to hear from his mouth, especially considering the circumstances. I was compelled to listen. "Your sister will be fine", he continued, "And she'll return soon. Everyone is safe. I promise."

_I promise_.

Fenris would not lie to me. Fenris never lied to me. The others might, if they thought it would spare me pain, but not him. Never him.

"You… promise", I repeated.

"Yes."

Slowly, I relaxed, resting my head against his chest. Fenris tensed, but made no move to lay me back onto the cold stone. His heart was beating steadily under my ear, with no trace of fear in it. The steadfast drumming was soothing to my nerves. It pounded away my own throbbing aches like rainfall drowning out sorrow. For several minutes, I forgot everything else and just listened to it.

Then Fenris shifted, as if to draw away. Fear gripped me. Childish fear, but fear all the same. "D-on't–", I began. I was loathe to leave the unexpected sanctuary, to face the bitter darkness of my own soul. That beating heart was something real to focus on besides what I suffered; something alive to find comfort in after so long in the arms of death.

Fenris gave a quiet, bemused kind of chuckle that confused me. "_Festis bei umo canavarum_", he murmured. Then I realized he had retrieved the thin blanket off the ground, and was wrapping it like a shawl around my bare shoulders.

Aveline and Merrill were silent.


	2. An Appointment

Joseph

* * *

"AARGH!"

"Oh, for the Maker's sake, stop squirming!"

The sailor rubbed his nose with his forearm."War'den, yeu promized it woodn't 'urt!"

"I said it wouldn't hurt _much_. And that was only if you _held still_. Which, so far, you have failed to do", I insisted calmly, gripping his shoulder to keep him from jerking away again.

He began to pout, his thick lip protruding from his crooked jaw rather atrociously. "Can't yeu jus' use yeur majeec to make it go away?"

I chuckled, looking up, "You know, I don't hear that one too often. Most of the time it's _'Oi! Keep yeur cur'zed magic away frem me, o defiler ov the Golden Citeh!'_"

For a moment the pout intensified. Then my patient admitted, "…I am naut superstitious like mozt folkz."

"Clearly", I agreed, raising my dagger.

His mud-brown eyes grew wide as he realized what I was getting ready to do. "Well… can't yeu use yeur magic?", he repeated desperately.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way" I explained. "I'll have to get the broken tip out by the same methods as anyone else, before a magical remedy will do you any real good. … But surely this isn't the first time you've gotten a knife lost in your shoulder – brave Orlesian seaman such as you are? You must have been in _more_ than your share of deadly brawls."

The sailor's chest puffed out. "Well, _certainly_, eet's jest…" He realized that he could not simultaneously boast and whine about his wound with any sort of dignity. He scowled thoughtfully. "… Eet's jest ze pain talking, ees all."

I nodded in agreement, "Happens to the best of us, my good ser. Now, let's get this over with so you can go back to doing useful things, like drinking."

He began to laugh, and, taking advantage of his momentary distraction, I drove my dagger into the gash on his shoulder. The Maker favored my arm, and in one quick motion, I'd pried the steel shard from his wound.

My patient let out a deafening howl. He stared with blank terror between me, the bleeding shoulder, and the broken knife tip as it clattered to the ground. His jaw moved up and down uselessly; then, his eyes rolled back into his skull and he fell back in a dead faint.

"Poor sod", I muttered amiably, wiping the blood off my blade on his shirt sleeve.

"What in Andraste's name ees going on down zere?", someone shouted from the deck. Without waiting for an answer, they tromped down the steps to investigate.

"Evening, Captain", I greeted, sheathing the dagger and lifting my hands over the unconscious sailor in preparation to magically seal the wound.

"Oh. Et's yeu", he realized.

Though friendly enough, the Captain Veau was an old, hard-headed man who probably should have retired at some point in the early Storm Age. He sported thin, greasy white-grey hair and observed everything through beady black eyes that were stuck in a permanent squint under sparse white eyebrows. Couple this with his thin, wrinkly dry skin, his stringy muscles, and his poorly manicured fingernails, and you got the impression that the sun had dried Veau out sort of like a big yellow raisin. Or maybe a strip of rotten nug jerky. I couldn't decide which analogy I liked better.

He frowned, casting his beetle-gaze towards the unconscious crewman.

"There was a brawl", I explained. "Got himself stabbed. I was patching things up."

"Oh. Well, zat's very kind of yeu, War'den."

"You know, you can call me by my name. I much prefer 'Joseph' to 'Warden'."

"Sure, War'den, sure…"

Pursing my lips, I turned my gaze back to the unconscious sailor. Veau watched anxiously as I used magic to close the wound, now that it was free of debris. Blue ribbons of spirit energy streamed around the sailor's chest, cleansing his blood and sealing the laceration. Under my guidance, vessels mended themselves and flesh knit back together in a matter of minutes. From the corner of my eye, I could see the captain fingering his sword hilt.

Veau wasn't one to hate a man just for being born with magic in their blood, but it was all too clear he feared the power mages possessed, the same as any other "normal" denizen of Thedas. I ignored his fidgeting, knowing better than to waste my time trying to convince the captain that magic was not, by nature, evil.

Though it was no secret to the crew that I was a mage, the past three weeks aboard ship had forced me to keep the talents more or less under wraps. It would only have taken the slightest hint of something adverse coming to pass for the crew to make magic their scapegoat. Even my status as Commander of the Grey wouldn't stop a terrified mob of superstitious sailors from trying to throw me into the ocean, believing I had caused their misfortune.

But the northern shore of the Waking Sea had come into sight just after dawn today, and I saw no problem with mending a single shoulder before we docked in Kirkwall. I could always turn into a fish if it came down to it.

"U-_gh_", my patient moaned as he began to stir. The gash was completely closed up, with only the blood on his shirt to mark the event. I allowed myself a smile of satisfaction.

"Yeu 'ealed 'im", Veau said, as if surprised, "Just like zat! Maker, 'e'd 'ave been absolutely no use to me unloading ze ship wi'z zat shoulder – but yeu 'ealed 'im!

"Yes, well. I do have some talents besides those that pertain to killing Darkspawn."

"My zanks, Ward'n", the captain offered, shaking my hand violently. Then he seemed to remember something. "Oh, yeu best ready yeurself. We'll be putting in et ze docks in less zan 'alf an 'our."

I nodded, and hurried to gather my things.

All of my worldly possessions could be carried in a single knapsack, so it took less than five minutes to throw everything together. I flung the satchel over my shoulder and headed topside, eager to be off the ship and back on solid ground.

When I came up, the ship was winding its way through a deep canyon: the entrance to the harbor of Kirkwall. Towering brass sculptures of emaciated slaves, their faces hidden behind bony fingers, hung limply on either side as if in warning. I'd heard that in the old days, when Kirkwall had belonged to the Imperium and slaves were the staple of its economy, these massive, imposing structures had been placed as a message to the newly arriving chattel. It was a 'free' city, now; but the statues remained, a reminder that the cruelty of the world was as timeless as its greed.

Past the sculptures, situated on an island in the middle of the harbor, were three great, oblong stone buildings. The Gallows. If anything inanimate had ever screamed, "_Oppression!_", it was definitely theses things. Seeing them in person was mystifying. As a man who'd spent the better part of his childhood locked in the cold, black tower of the Ferelden Circle of Magi, I could scarcely feel anything _but_ mystified. The Gallows housed the mages of the Kirkwall Circle. Before that, they'd held slaves.

I understood that Knight-Commander Meredith hated magic with a passion. And while it was not unusual for a templar to hate magic, her vehemency had made her a legend even among the Order. You got the idea she would prefer that anyone born with the ability to wield arcane power was killed quickly, rather than imprisoned for life. Never mind that people like me had saved the bloody_ world_. A free mage was practically a sin, which made me the equivalent of her worst nightmare. As such, I really wasn't sure what the Wardens expected, sending any kind of mage to recruit from the Kirkwall Circle. The Knight-Commander sounded more likely to have me hanged than accommodated. And I had half a mind to offer every mage under her a spot in the Grey Wardens, just to pull them from under her big, shiny boot.

As we approached, carrion birds flocked around from the cliffs, looking for scraps. Their black bodies and red, featherless heads melded into a great squawking mass behind the ship. I pulled a piece of stale hard tack out of my coat pocket and chucked it over the deck. Twenty or thirty hornbills splintered off from the main horde and went for the morsel, fighting bitterly with each other for the right to eat. A single bird caught it and tried to turn back to the shore, but the others clawed and pecked at it viscously. It clenched it's beak, crumbling the biscuit to pieces, which other hungry birds dove for and stole from each other. The cycle repeated over and over, so that by the time the mob reached the water, I doubted any of them had actually gotten to eat anything. A powdery cloud of tiny crumbs drifted through the waves.

Waste of hard tack.

I gave the water a closer inspection, hoping to see the bottom. But the sea, though calm, was dark and utterly opaque. My reflection was clearly distinguishable in the bright morning sun. Pale green eyes stared back up at me, framed by shoulder-length burgundy hair. My angular features were distorted by the ship's waves; however, the deep scar running from above my left eyebrow to below my right eye, a memoir from the Brecilian Forest, was still painfully obvious. I traced it with a hand.

It was also clear that I had forgotten to shave this morning.

"Zere's Kirkwall, War'den!", Veau bellowed from the helm, when he saw me leaning over the rail. Looking up, I followed the direction of his finger, where the city was just coming into sight behind the imposing outline of the Gallows.

I'd hardly expected anything to be more impressive than the Circle's prison. The City of Chains, however, was like nothing I could have imagined.

What a sight it was.

Looming callously over the harbor, sprawled between the great stone cliffs above a deep, black-water bay, Kirkwall was an entity in and of itself.

I'd heard stories, of course. The place was widely known as a dark, wretched abyss that couldn't go half a decade without some sort of cataclysmic disaster. In that way, it sounded a bit like my homeland of Ferelden. But nothing could have prepared me for the sheer despotism of the place, with its foundations of adobe and rotting wood shouldering lavish marble estates, and smoke rising like dragon's breath into a poisonous black cloud above. The streets looked tangled and corrupt. Dangerous. It was little wonder the City of Chains had such a tainted reputation.

And the smell.

Maker, the smell. How could anyone possibly get used to the aroma of death and burning decay which clouded the air so sharply, even at this distance?

When I'd had my fill of the scenery, I turned and made my way to the helm to stand by Captain Veau. He nodded a hello, then remarked casually, "Quite ze sight, eh War'den?"

I nodded, "Certainly is."

"Eet's strange... normally yeu can see ze Chantry from here."

I glanced towards the city's peak, but not having any real idea what the Chantry looked like, I certainly couldn't see where it was missing.

There was silence, then Veau chuckled, "Yeu know, I saw yeu feeding zem berds. Squabble just like Darktown beggars, don' zey? Would 'ave been nice of yeu to roast a few 'undred of zem wi'z yeur magic, instead of feeding zem. Damn pests."

"The birds or the beggars?", I asked captiously.

Veau gave a hearty laugh, "Yeu know I was speaking of ze birds, of course. But in all 'onesty War'den, nobody in Kirkwall would miss a few Ferelden refugees."

I frowned, "Surely Fereldens aren't the only poor in the city."

"Well, zere are ze elves. Maybe ze Fereldens are jus' noisier about eet."

"King Alistair sent ships. My people could have returned to their homeland, now that the Blight is over. Their farms might have been lost… but at least they'd have the opportunity to rebuild. Why did they stay here?"

Veau shrugged, "Yeu can ask zem why yeurself, eef yeu like. Maybe zere were more refugees zan ships, no?" He sighed, "I certainly won't pretend to know."

"AHOY THERE!", someone screamed port-side.

Veau and I exchanged looks. "What in Andraste's name?", he growled, and went to investigate. I followed.

A small skiff had pulled up as close as it could to the ship, and a templar was waving at us importantly. "Who's in charge there?", he bellowed.

"I am ze captain!", Veau replied.

"You'll have to dock at the Gallows, Captain!", the templar explained. "Security check!"

This was fine with me – I needed to get to the Circle anyways. Veau, on the other hand, was furious, "What do ze zink we are? Some sort of smugglers?"

"I'm sure there won't be a problem", I replied. Ignorantly.


	3. Dawn

Athena

* * *

I learned over the next few hours how incredibly difficult it is to come back from the dead.

It wasn't just the pain shooting through my nerves like an electric pulse at any given moment. No, pain by itself I could have dealt with. But blood loss and coma had led to other problems, the natures of which I was less equipped to endure patiently.

Being a rogue fighter, speed, agility, and finesse were my tools in a confrontation. The subtle twist of the blade, the feint forerunning a deathblow, the knife in the dark – these came as second nature. There was nothing I was more proud of than my aptitude for slight of hand… except perhaps an ability to form witty comebacks on a dime, or my thick, wavy black hair which fell past my shoulders.

Such a lifestyle meant I necessarily kept a lithe figure. It also meant there was nothing between my stomach and spine but the next meal. Seven days without food meant my starving body, having no fat reserves to otherwise sustain it, had begun to eat up muscle mass. And, fun fact: unconscious, half-dead bodies are apparently ravenous eaters.

Mentally, I had no real sense of the time spent comatose. Occasionally there had been vague sensations between the empty expanses. Whispers, fingertips. But I couldn't tell you if they belonged to the spirits of the Fade or my companions. The whole thing was like waking up after a nap and finding yourself wasted to the bone.

To combat this, one of my earliest priorities had been consuming a meal. Greedily, I'd sated my chapped lips and shriveled stomach on what food and drink was made available – right up to the point my body rejected the feast of beetroots and I brought the whole lot of it up again in a violent outburst of bile and semi-chewed mush.

My pride was suffering here.

"We're sticking with water", the captain had decreed, and I didn't argue.

Another thing I had to come to terms with the idea that something as simple as pulling my linens over me was suddenly a monumental task, one which made my arms shake like twigs and my head spin as if I'd been thrown against the ground by a Qunari Saarebas. The wound in my gut was more sensitive than most nobles I'd met, sending out shockwaves of painful protest over the slightest abuse.

Moreover, Aveline was hovering like a mother hen over everything I tried to do, and Fenris seemed very near the point of violently throwing Merrill out of the cavern because she couldn't stop talking. For my part, the rambling in and of itself wouldn't offend. But she happened to have chosen Anders as her subject matter, and coincidentally he was the one topic I _really_ wanted to stay away from.

Because thinking about him meant looking inward, at the gaping wound in my chest where love used to be.

I'd trusted Anders' resolve and devotion unreservedly for three years. For twice that number, I fought by his side against radical templars; and led dozens of frightened, abused captives of the Circle to freedom through the mage underground. The Hawke Estate even became a waypoint for apostates fleeing the Order. I used my power and influence as Kirkwall's Champion to encourage the city to put aside its fears and accept those born with magic as brothers. I did this for Anders. For my sister. For every child ever ripped away from its parents.

We were making progress. We were _saving _lives. Meredith was starting to crack.

But then Anders went and ruined everything. He threw away almost a decade of dedicated work in one cataclysmic moment, and sacrificed our love on an altar of vengeance.

He could never give back what he had stolen, even if he wanted to; and nothing in the world would heal this cut or fill the emptiness inside my heart. So if I had to hear much more about my 'beloved', or how _worried_ he had been, or how _relieved_ he would be, I might _lose _my bloody mind. Never would I let that man – no, that _abomination_ - close enough to do such harm again.

It was cruel of Merrill not to recognize this. To speak as if there might be something alive in the ruinous divide between me and Anders was rubbing salt into the wounds. If only she could see that her blabbering was serving as a more effective weapon than anything a demon of the Fade could hope to wield.

"See, Fenris?", the young witch was pressing.

"What?", he replied from beside me, with an audible glare.

Merrill straightened her posture triumphantly, "Anders _did_ know what he was doing. He _did_ save Athena's life."

"Save her? That mage got her into this mess to start with", Fenris growled, "I should kill him for deliberately allowing Hawke to come to harm." It was difficult to tell if he was being serious. _Maybe_, if I'd not been aching all over from wounds acquired whilst cleaning up Anders' mess, I would have felt compelled to defend him.

"You can't possibly hold him responsible for Athena almost dying", Merrill snapped, "Not without blaming yourself, too. If you had just let him heal her all the way instead of arguing while she sat there flopping like a fish, she'd probably be better by now. Besides, Hawke puts herself in danger all the time. And I don't see how–"

"Shush! Both of you! You'll give Hawke a headache if you don't quit your squabbling", Aveline barked, so close to my ear that I jerked and spilled the drink I had in my hands.

Swallowing my frustration, I offered, "We're a-ll _unbe-lievably_ glad to be alive, r-ight? L-et's focus on, that."

Relative silence ensued until Varric came in. The dwarf's hearty laughter made us all jump a good half a meter. Which was painful, on my part.

He strode into the firelight, chest heaving like someone had just told a good joke at the Hanged Man. His normally immaculate attire was stained and grimy, his hair was a greasy blonde tangle in a messy ponytail. But it was the Varric I knew and loved, just the same.

There was a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes. He hadn't noticed I was awake. "Captain, you're not going to believe this, but Donnic's–"

"Hello Varric!", Merrill twittered happily, waving a thin hand. "_Look!_"

"Daisy, I'm trying to…" He saw me and dropped off mid-sentence, staring.

For a moment his face became unreadable. Then it broke into a wide, careless smile. You couldn't help but smile back. "Finally decide you'd miss us too much, did you?", he asked.

I laughed hoarsely, "What w-ould my tr-usty dwarf do with-out me?"

It was hard to miss the pain in Varric's eyes when he heard my quivering voice. "You're not dead yet, Hawke, I don't have to worry about that kind of shit", he quipped. Then he faced Aveline crossly, "You know, you could have _told_ me she'd come-to. It's not like I haven't been _waiting_."

"She's only been coherent for a few hours," Aveline retorted sharply. "Did you honestly expect me to pull you from watch _just_ so you could pester Athena the moment she woke up?"

He looked offended. "If she's well enough to take you three in the same room, she's definitely well enough to see me."

Varric dropped cross-legged in front of me, ignoring Aveline's admonishing look. He pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his coat and a stick of charcoal. "So, Hawke – you've been mostly dead for a while now. What's it like on the other side? Are the stories true? The light, and all that?"

"Varric," the captain interrupted. "You're still supposed to be on watch, last I checked."

"Oh, right", he replied without looking at her. "It's dawn, Captain. Requesting relief, yada-yada, all that. You and Broody are up. My turn with our felled and fearless leader."

Aveline glared.

Dawn. He'd said dawn."Is Bethany ba-ck?", I asked urgently.

"Not yet", the dwarf answered in a ridiculously nonchalant tone. "At least, I didn't see any sign of her on the way in."

"But that _doesn't_ mean she's in trouble, Hawke", the captain added quickly, apparently worried I would break into another fit. "She's sure to be back any minute now. Right, Varric?"

"Er, right…?" Varric looked between us, then added pointedly, "Blondie, too."

"Yes, _any minute now_, Hawke", Aveline repeated, pushing herself to a stand. "Which means Fenris and I had better get up there to keep our eyes out."

"I'm c-oming with you", I stated, testing the resilience of the muscles and sinews in my legs. They were stiff, but responsive.

Aveline started to shake her head. "I don't think that's a good–"

My look silenced her. She still fixed me with a disapproving glower, which I ignored.

This was my first attempt at standing since waking up. Needless to say, I overestimated my ability, rose too quickly, got halfway up, and blacked out.

It was only for a split second, but that was long enough to completely lose control. Fenris and Aveline grabbed me on either side, and Varric caught me from the front. So at the very least, I didn't have to suffer the ignominy of falling back on my arse.

"See?", the captain scolded, as if I were a child.

"I'm st-anding, aren't, I?", I snapped, neatly hunched over and wobbling like a drunk mabari.

"Sure, if that's what you want to call it", Varric replied.

Merrill gave me a look of concern. "Maybe you should wait until Anders gets a chance to look you over. You don't want to hurt yourself again."

I ignored this unreasonable advice.

Once they steadied me and the world stopped spinning, Aveline and Varric withdrew their support. Fenris loosened his hold but didn't entirely release me. I had to lean on him much more heavily than I would have liked in order to keep upright. Every inch of me hurt; every fibre of my being seemed to be in savage rebellion. It couldn't have been more clear I was in a bad way, and I hesitated, knowing that any forward motion at all would exacerbate the pain. Maker, if I fell…

No. I mustn't think about falling.

I must think about Bethany. And how important it was to see her again and keep her safe. _One foot in front of the other, Athena. Keep moving._

I tried taking the first step as fast as possible, hoping it would turn into something both mindless and efficient, and I could then ignore the discomfort. I thought that if I built up enough momentum, I'd be able to walk relatively quickly despite the injures.

Retrospectively… not the soundest of theories.

All I did was lose balance again. Every sore spot on my body clenched up as I stumbled forward without my legs' cooperation. I gasped; my wounds screamed.

_Shit theory! Absolute shite!_, I berated myself, tumbling downward._ Dammit, this is _really_ going to hurt. _

But the ground never came.

Fenris intercepted the fall, catching me around the waist with his free hand almost before the others could move.

He and I were face to face now, and my cheeks were burning with embarrassment. By Andraste, he had to be getting tired of doing that. "Thanks…", I offered. His touch stung like ice on burnt skin – but this discomfort was significantly more bearable than a head-on collision with the stone underfoot.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?", Fenris scowled.

"N-o."

"Well, then, I would appreciate you being a little less reckless", he suggested, pulling my arm over his shoulder and propping me up securely.

"Y-ou know I have a, reput-ation to uphold, elf", I choked back in good humour, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Your pride will be your downfall, Athena."

"H-_hypocrite_."

The faintest of smiles teased his lips.

* * *

After that, I went slower. Actually, scratch that – since I wasn't careening toward the hard ground with every staggering footfall – I was most definitely making better progress.

Fenris was surprisingly good at keeping pace. He never went so slow as to hold me back, or so fast as to drag me behind him. Aveline went ahead of us, but made sure we could always see her in the dark, winding corridors of the bolthole. Varric followed beside me, and Merrill took up the rear. It was comforting to experience this fellowship; to see that my friends' loyalty remained strong, even when I was so weak.

The tunnel systems were surprisingly complex. This was obviously one of the larger caverns on the coast, and I was glad I hadn't acted on an earlier impulse to try finding my way to the surface alone. The others probably never would have found me again.

We reached the mouth just as the sun crested the horizon. Outside was much warmer than the cave. The air was fresh and salty, a pleasant relief from the stale, dead draft of the cavern.

In the dim blue light of morning, I saw that we were about halfway up a heavily vegetated hill. Small strips of the stony road could be seen winding in the distance, but the foliage did a good job of hiding the majority of the path from view. Presumably, the opposite was also true. Aveline was right, we were in a secret place.

Behind the road, the ocean stretched out in a perforated black sheet. As its name suggested, the Wounded Coast was littered with sharp, jagged rocks along the shore and sticking out of the water. Rotting shipwrecks, indicated by broken masts sticking out of the surf or half-sunk hulls, seemed almost as numerous as the rocks.

Turning away from the water, in the opposite direction, I could see the silhouette of Sundermount and its surrounding slopes. I was pretty sure I'd been to this area along the coast before, but never known about these caves. That wasn't surprising, because the ground under Wounded Coast sported an utter labyrinth of limestone tunnels. Even a seasoned spelunker like myself couldn't possibly hope to map out every chamber.

"I need to, rest", I told Fenris, feeling lightheaded from the effort of walking. It was difficult, but I made a concerted effort not to let my voice hitch over the words.

"Here." He gestured to a patch of dirt right outside the cave. "Sit."

With his help I lowered myself to the ground, sticking my legs out straight because folding them required more dexterity than they were currently capable of. I rubbed my side tentatively. The wound felt hot under my palm.

Fenris saw the gesture. "Are you all right?", he asked, in a jagged tone which demanded my complete and total honesty. There was a startling intensity in his dark green eyes that was almost unnerving.

I swallowed the soothing lie that had instantly formed on my tongue. You couldn't lie to that voice, you couldn't even endeavour to try.

"No. But, I w-ill be", I told him removing the hand from the bandage and putting it firmly on the ground, "… I-i promise."

He gazed at me a moment longer, then nodded once and moved out of sight down the hill, to wherever he kept watch.

"Donnic?", Aveline asked, looking higher up the slope.

Merrill and Varric took positions on either side of me.

"Donnic!", the captain called, more loudly.

There was a shuffling sound.

"Aveline?" It was him. Donnic appeared from a concealed place above the cave. He was still wearing the armour of the Kirkwall guard, its' orange regalia stained and steel plates battered. His sword-hilt was strapped to his side, but the blade itself was in hand. Donnic's dark eyes were smiling. "There you are, dear. I was starting to wonder. And…", his eyebrows shot up,_ "Lady Athena_! Awake and recovered at last, I see!"

"Awake at least. She insisted on coming out with us, that's why we're late", Aveline informed her husband, before I could say anything. She gave me another condescending look, which I tolerated only because I knew that her frustration stemmed from the fact that she cared about me and didn't want to see me hurt. Had our positions been reversed, and she was staggering about in a half-stupor, I would be providing the disapproving look, and Aveline would be disregarding it in kind.

"No harm done", Donnic addressed me mildly, sheathing his sword. "Some fresh air will probably do you good."

Donnic was the only person out of the group who wasn't here primarily on account of being my friend. He'd followed after Aveline into the wilderness with us, after Anders bombed the Chantry in his grand scheme to prove to the world that magic couldn't be contained, and Meredith tried to annul the Circle of Magi in retaliation.

_Yes, raze the Chantry. Excellent idea, Love._ Give the world exactly what they wanted. Make sure everyone knows that mages are dangerous, uncompromising terrorists. And while your at it, lie to me. _Ruin_ my life. Ruin my _friends'_ lives. Turn us all into martyr's for your personal vendetta.

"Ho-w are you, holding up?", I asked Donnic.

He laughed tiredly, running a hand through his long brown hair. "How do you think? I've been living in a hole in the ground with _your_ crew for a week. Messere, how you managed to keep this lot from tearing out each other's throats for six years is beyond me."

"Usually because someone e-ven less compatible was coming at us with a sword, or a f-f-fire-ball."

Donnic smiled, but it was a strained gesture. Seeing him try so hard to be optimistic reminded me that back in Kirkwall, many others had been ripped away from everything they'd ever known or cared about.

Of all the messes I'd made over the years, failing to see what Anders was planning was without a doubt the worst. By the time it all _literally _came crashing down, there was no way to stop the world from plummeting into the abyss. The fires had been started; the deed had been done.

The only choice then given to me had been whether or not to plunge my blade through the perpetrator's heart.

_'Whatever you're going to do, just do it." _

_Kill him!_, my conscience screamed, _Make him pay for what he's done!_

In the heat of that terrible moment, with ash and embers falling like rain all around us, I'd told myself sparing him was the right thing to do because everyone deserved a chance to redeem themselves. But the reality was, I'd only been fooling myself. Denying what was too painful to bear. Anders didn't want redemption. He wanted revolution. He _always_ had.

In being unwilling to see this one truth, I'd allowed nothing short of thousands of innocents to die. Which was as good as killing them personally. Their blood would forever stain my hands and my soul.

Love blinded and betrayed even the canniest of people, it seemed.

A torrent of guilt crashed down as the thin veil I'd built around my emotions since waking up shattered. I was reminded that we could never go home again, not one of us. That was my fault. My failure.

How many times would others have to suffer for my shortcomings? Why couldn't I have succumbed to my wounds, and died alongside those I'd condemned? It was bitterly unfair that _I _should endure, when _they_ found release.

Maybe such thoughts were selfish. Sinful, even.

In any case, they were ultimately useless. I was alive. I had to keep moving.

Right now, the only path forward that I could see began with making sure my sister was okay, far from my enemies' grasp. Considering that she was currently out in the wilderness somewhere with Maferath reborn, and should have been back before the sun rose, I wasn't off to a fantastic start.

But what could I do now except wait, and pray to the Maker for mercy which I was neither deserving of nor prepared to receive?

Minutes passed by like hours.

The sun crept up over the horizon, and bathed the world with morning light. The clouds lit up in pink and orange hues, and then faded into their regular whites and greys.

Varric was speaking to me, but I didn't really hear him.

"Have they, ever been this la-te before?", I asked finally.

Aveline cast a furtive glance over the coast and nodded. "Plenty of times."

She was never any good at lying.

"Wait, do you hear that?" Merrill exclaimed excitedly a few minutes later. "Someone's coming!"

I followed the direction of her attention. Sure enough, the thick shrubs began to shudder and a figure emerged.

It was Fenris.

Though I tried to hide it, he must have seen the disappointment on my face. His mouth twitched with something like amusement, and the warrior stepped aside, letting someone behind him come through. She had long dark hair like mine, and bright brown eyes like our father's. My heart leapt into my throat.

"_Bethany!_"

At the sound of my voice, she startled. Inexpressible relief washed over her face and flooded my spirit as our eyes met. I'd never been so happy to see anyone in my life.

Bethany ran forward, dropping the mass of elfroot she'd been carrying forgotten into the dirt. She threw her arms around me in a tight embrace. "Sister."

Every inch of me screamed in pain. I didn't care. My sister was okay. Bethany was safe. That was worth any price. Bleed me for months on end, impale me with barbed spears and poisoned arrows – I'd take it, just to know _she_ was alive and well.

Tears seeped from my eyes. I sent a silent thanksgiving to the Maker for his mercy.

"Oh, Maker! I've been so scared", Bethany whimpered, and I realised she was crying, too. "I thought… Athena, I thought you were going to die!"

"Shh", I mumbled into her shoulder. "I'-m alright. _We're_ alr-ight – both of us." I clung to her as tightly as possible. There were no words to express this joy which set me to shaking.

I would not lose her again.

Then, a shadow fell over us. "_Love?_", called a chillingly familiar voice.

Looking up, I saw Anders standing behind Bethany. His brown eyes were starless; his aspect was utterly dark.

All the warm feelings inside me went cold.

* * *

_**A/N: Trying to get Athena out of her BSOD mode. Hopefully I haven't killed you all with that already. -shot-**_

_**EDIT: Revised most of the dialogue concerning Anders. Also, embellished a few scenes. Big thanks to my beta-reader!**_


	4. Born Unto Trouble

Joseph

* * *

Almost before the seamen could finish tying _Le Présage _down, the templars forced the entire crew to get off the ship and stand in a line. Ten of the tin soldiers began questioning the men, rather roughly. About twice as many marched aboard and began searching the boat, ripping through any bit of cargo they found larger than a fish barrel and spilling the contents onto the deck.

Maybe I was just paranoid, but this seemed a bit excessive.

Veau was throwing a fit. "No, no! Stop eet! Yeu're ruining my shipment! Agh! Yeu're going to hav to pay for zat!" His neck was red and bulging under his thin skin; it looked as if Veau might explode any moment. When he received no response from the knights, he ran forward and tried to pull one of them off the ship by hand.

They threw him back angrily. "You are interfering with templar business, serah."

"_Yeu_ are interfering with moi livelihood! _I'll never be able to sell zat now_!"

"Stand back. We cannot risk letting any apostates into this city."

Illegal mages? Was that really what all the fuss was about?

Three templars stood apart from the rest, the only knights not actively occupied in the 'security check.' I assumed one of them must be in charge and started to approach, intending to declare myself, explain the situation, and hopefully do everyone a favor.

"You there! Where'd you get that blood stain?", one of the interrogators shouted.

Stopping, I looked down the line and saw the sailor I had mended struggling to explain himself in front of an angry, armed interrogator.

"Zere w-w-was a fight, messere. I was stabbed", the sailor explained, trembling.

"You have no wound", the templar snarled, pulling his sword from it's scabbard. My blood began to boil. If I hated anything, it was bullies. Especially self-righteous ones.

" 'ealed, it–"

"This blood is fresh."

"Yes, I–"

"Are you a mage?", he demanded, lifting the blade in his hands menacingly.

You got the feeling that answering 'yes' would bring a swift death, and 'no' a slow one. The rest of Veau's crew cowered like sheep. My fists clenched, and I had to consciously push back the magical energy that wanted to surge forth. If this was the Maker's will at work, then I was the Empress of Orlais.

"No messere!", the sailor squealed. I honestly thought he might wet himself. "I'm not–"

"_Don't lie to me!_" the templar interrupted again, grabbing the sailor by the collar. "If you aren't, then someone on your ship _is_! I _will _have the truth from you! You _will_ turn them over to us, or Maker help me, I'll–"

"You'll _what_?", I cut in, stalking towards them. The eyes of every sailor and knight honed in on the conflict. They probably wondered if it was possible for someone to be so stupid. But I'd had my fill of templar abuse twenty years ago; I wasn't about to stand by and watch it happen without some kind of snarky protest.

The arrogant templar considered me, and dropped the sailor onto the ground. "Is there something you want to say to me, Orlesian swine?"

"Uh, do I _sound_ like I come from Orlais to you?", I retorted, crossing my arms as if offended. "Maker's breath, if you can't tell an Orlesian hog from a Ferelden dog, how on earth could you hope to correctly identify a mage? Sloppy that is. Disgraceful, really. In fact, I might even file a complaint."

He began to stalk towards me, holding his sword ready. I suppose it was an attempt at being intimidating, except he'd been swinging the thing around for a while now and that made the whole gesture really quite pathetic. "You _will_ give up the apostate in your midst!", he reiterated, "Harboring mages is a hanging offense!"

"So after we give him up, you hang us? Is that what you're saying?", I asked, nodding seriously, and keenly aware that I was digging myself into a hole, "Well I must say that's definitely a _strong_ argument for turning over the 'apostate._'_"

"I'll have the truth from you!", he repeated. "Willing or not!"

"Of course. How about you ask nicely, and we can cross out the 'not'?"

"Oi, Ser Strak, take it down a notch!", one of the other templars shouted.

"You should listen to your friend", I advised

"I don't take sass from smart-mouthed Fereldens", Ser Strak snarled.

"_I_ don't take harassment from thick-headed templars."

"He's hiding something!", Strak was only a few meters away now. "There's an apostate in this lot – I'm sure of it!"

"There's no apostate!", I insisted, uncrossing my arms. "But if it makes you feel any better, there _is_ a nice sparkly Grey Warden here with magical properties." I allowed a ribbon of blue flame to dance up my arm. He tensed and I started to explain, "My name is Joseph Amell, Grey Warden and Hero of–"

"_MALEFICAR!_", Ser Strak screamed, charging me. His arrogance went hand in hand with his stupidity, it would seem. What a show Knight-Commander Meredith ran.

The templar came at me like a rampaging bull – only with considerably less grace. He'd made no attempt to nullify my magic, instead seeming to be under the impression that mowing me over was the most logical plan of attack. Of course, in all the heavy steel armor, he was about as agile as blind duck.

Too easy.

My opponent swung his sword, but overextended himself in the strike. Dodging the blow was as simple as taking a step back. He staggered, completely off balance, and I gave him a good kick in the backside as he flew past. Strak fell, skidding across the stones. Probably put a few scrapes on his armor. I looked to see how many reinforcements were coming.

Most of them were looking at the three templars which stood apart, as if waiting for orders. I fixed the leaders with a meaningful glare. "_As I was saying_: I'm Joseph Amell, Commander of the Grey and Hero of Ferelden. I've come all the way from Orlais to speak with your Knight-Commander. I am expected. So unless you're planning on bringing the wrath of every Warden from here to the Weisshaupt down on your city, you would do well to keep your swords _sheathed_."

Thankfully, these templars had a little more sense. The leftmost knight in the trio came forward. He removed his helmet, revealing a young man with straw-colored hair and sky-colored eyes. "Stand down, Ser Strak. He doesn't want to fight, and Maker knows we don't need another army at our doorstep. Let the Knight-Commander see to this Warden."

Ser Strak, the one who had attacked me, was getting back to his feet. I could practically feel the glower burning behind his helmet as I strode past him. "Even _you_ can't possibly believe he's telling the truth!", he hissed to the blonde templar.

"A lot of people go around pretending to be Grey Wardens?", I quipped.

"_Stand down, Strak_. That's an order." The blonde templar put a hand on his sword hilt.

Strak's reaction was difficult to gauge under his stiff armor. But finally he offered a disgruntled reply: "...Aye, Ser Keran."

Keran nodded. "This ship is clear", he waved to the knights on the ship, "Put everything back where you found it and let them through."

Veau gave me a nod, and I saluted emphatically – a gesture I'd picked up from my time in Orlais.

"Sorry about all that", my escort apologized.

"Some security check you have going", I remarked dryly, considering Keran. He seemed less… _zealous_ than most other templars I'd met.

"Things have been tense lately", he explained awkwardly, motioning for us to start walking. "You understand."

"I suppose I do", I replied, thinking he was referring to the fact that Kirkwall hadn't had a viscount to rule it in three years, and Knight-Commander Meredith in her divine paranoia had practically taken over the city.

"Keeping Strak active in the force so soon after loosing his friends to blood mages wasn't ideal… but we're a bit tight for numbers. Most all of us have lost _someone_ these past few days…", Keran drifted off mournfully.

This new bit of information made me wince. I had no problem stepping on the toes of zealots with too much ego. But if I'd known Strak's anger was born of grief, I wouldn't have tried so hard to humiliate him.

"I apologize for causing a scene", I offered, making a mental note to apologize to Strak in person when I got the chance. The irony wasn't lost on me.

Keran shrugged. "For all the training Meredith put us through, I don't think anyone was really prepared for this mess. It's amazing how few of the Order have been able to rise to the challenge in this chaos."

"A bit melodramatic, don't you think?"

"Maybe for a Warden."

We walked through a tunnel-like hallway into the Gallows courtyard.

Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Magic. And not just the aura you'd expect from a mage prison, but something dark and powerful which lingered in the shadows. A sort of hushed fear hovered in the air. I searched for the source, but it appeared to emanate from the entire yard.

At first glance, the courtyard itself looked clean, except for a massive pile of rubble, broken statues and bent metal piled up indiscreetly in a cloister to the left. The wrought iron fencing around the porch above the main yard was bent and, in many places, torn clean through. Like something massive had bulled its way through. Large gaps of stone appeared to have been dislodged from the stairways. And if I wasn't mistaken, there were a number of blackened stains along the walls from fire damage. Most disturbing was that, though there were plenty of templars around, not a single mage stood to be seen. Even the stalls where Tranquil sold their wares were empty, and many were in ruins.

Silently, I took all of it in. Keran turned left and led me into a smaller yard, where he waved down a recruit. "You there! Fetch the Commander. The Grey Warden is here."

The young woman nodded quickly and vanished into the obelisk-tower. I wondered if Meredith would keep me waiting long.

"You know, you really look like her", Keran observed.

"Meredith?", I replied, turning to look at him quizzically.

"No! Er, I meant Athena. You look just like her. That's why I believed you about being the Hero of Ferelden. When you said your name was Amell, the resemblance suddenly made sense."

I racked my memory for anyone I knew who went by that name, and shared some meaningful resemblance to me. Normally I was good at remembering people. I didn't remember any Athena. "Well… thanks?", I replied, "But I don't have a clue who that is."

"Oh, sorry messere", the templar apologized, "I thought as an Amell, you'd– Well, I guess it's still not surprising. So many people only knew her as 'Hawke', and that wasn't even her last name, anymore." He chuckled, and looked at me as if this was supposed to explain everything.

"I still don't understand. How does that connect her to me?"

Now Keran looked confused. "You know about the Champion, right?"

Yes, I knew about the Champion. I'd heard so _many_ stories about her, it was difficult to think of Kirkwall's hero as a single entity.

Patron to mages, emissary of the poor, the only one foolhardy and reckless enough to make a personal enemy of Meredith, there were a number of peculiar things said about the woman. She had come from Ferelden as a nobody-refugee during the Blight. Remarkably, she'd saved enough coin to buy into a Deep Roads expedition, actually survived the venture into the darkspawn-ridden tunnels, and returned to the surface incredibly wealthy.

Three years ago, she'd earned her title when she saved the city from an assault by Qunari forces. Their attack had robbed the city of its viscount, and the Qunari probably would have taken control if the _she_ had not intervened. She'd battled the Arishok, the military leader, in single combat… and _won_.

And there were other stories, too. According to rumor, the Champion had wrestled a High Dragon to the ground with her bare hands, released an Arcane Horror in Darktown, married an apostate, and set the entire city on fire twice. Her friends consisted of pirates, vagabonds, handsome dwarves, blood-mages, priests, and ogres. Supposedly, she had more charm than a desire demon, the strength of a thousand men, seven-thousand kills to her name, and was a family-woman at heart. She also held the secret of eternal youth and kept a griffon locked up in her wine cellar.

"I've heard of the Champion, but I still don't–"

"_That's her_." Keran explained emphatically. "Athena was the scion of the Amell family here in Kirkwall. Leandra was her mother, Aristide was her grandfather."

It clicked. He was telling me the Champion had blood ties to the Amell family. My family. Aristide was my great-uncle, Leandra was my aunt, and that made Athena Hawke my cousin.

The epiphany must have been clear on my face. Ser Keran laughed, "Makes sense now, right?"

Then the smile faded, "I wish she was still here. She always seemed to know what to do to make things right. The city's in chaos, everyone is terrified, and it certainly hasn't done the crowd any good to find out that Athena and her friends have all fled Kirkwall. They think maybe she was personally responsible for the… Incident. That kind of betrayal breaks a spirit."

"Incident?" I'd just found out I had living relatives worth meeting, and now Keran was talking about an _incident_?

He nodded, giving me a sideways glance. "What with Meredith's death, Cullen's had a hard time keeping the Order in line. A lot of the older knights still hold to Meredith's ideas. I only rejoined by Cullen's request – let's face it, the Commander needs all the help he can get to keep things under control. Wish I knew the whole story, but he issued a gag order until reinforcements arrive. Trying to keep down the panic, I guess. Not like _that's_ working. He can't very well hide the bloody mess in Hightown that used to be the Chantry. And it's no secret magic killed the Grand Cleric, or that Athena was there when it all went to the void. Now she's gone. People are going to talk. And, personally, I think the wild speculations are doing more damage than the truth would."

"Hold on, back up", I said, my stomach sinking into oblivion. "You lost me at 'Meredith's death.'"

Ser Keran's eyes narrowed, "Cullen sent for you, didn't he explain why in the letter?"

I shook my head, groaning. "Cullen _didn't_ send for me. I'm here looking for potential Warden recruits in the Kirkwall Circle. When I took ship, Meredith was still in charge… What do you _mean_ magic _killed_ the _Grand Cleric_?"

Keran locked his fingers together nervously, "I-I guess you were at sea when it happened. The Chantry was destroyed, everyone inside was murdered. If you really don't know…"

"When was this?", I demanded.

"About a week ago."

A number of nasty words came to mind, and I had to bite my tongue hard to keep them from spewing out. For the Maker's sake, couldn't I go somewhere that wasn't bleeding with chaos for once? If it wasn't an archdemon, it was something else.

"I need to speak to Cullen", I told Keran, stalking towards the door the messenger had been sent into. "Now."

* * *

_**A/N: **_

_**A reviewer brought up that, as Revka and Leandra were cousins, Joseph and Athena are technically 2nd cousins. Yes, this is 100% true. I've always heard a parent's cousin called 'aunt' or 'uncle', and second cousins called simply "cousin." For these reasons Joseph does the same. That was intentional. ;D**_


	5. The Heart of the Matter

_Anders_

* * *

A small thrill ran down my spine. There she was. She was thin and shaking and probably about to faint, but Athena was very much alive. I'd been terrified that this moment would never come, that she wouldn't wake up and I would spend the rest of my life without her.

A darker part of me disapproved of that desperation. But Justice disapproved of all my emotions. Especially the ones about Hawke.

She considered me in silence, the barest quiver on her delicate lips.

A plethora of feelings battled for dominance in my gut as our eyes met. Relief, joy, and excitement were forerunners, as I looked into those beautiful silver-grey irises. I searched them for a corresponding euphoria.

I didn't find it.

Instead, I found other things, plain and piercing and poignant in her eyes.

There was Fear; the same fear that had been on her face when we found out her mother was missing – taken captive by a necromancer.

Pain. The same pain that fell in rivers of tears down her cheeks, when she'd come banging on the door of my clinic in the dead of night to tell me that the templars had taken her sister.

Anger, like when we faced down Ser Alrik and his men, whose radicalism had threatened the lives of every captive mage in Kirkwall.

There was also bitterness and uncertainty and confusion _en masse_… And something else, too. Something I'd never seen in her before.

It was Hatred.

_Hatred._

Throughout all the years I'd known her, after all the injustice we'd faced, not once had I seen this ultimate expression of abhorrence now springing from Athena's soul, reflected in her gaze.

Suddenly, every beat of my heart became painful to bear.

What was I fighting for? And more importantly, _why_? These seemed like questions I should know the answer to. Maybe if I could remember, it would cool the sting of being despised by the only person I'd ever truly loved.

_We are fighting for justice. _

_Athena disagreed._

I grasped for some way to put my feelings into words; for apologies, excuses, explanations. But they all died on my tongue. These emotions were too raw altogether; too real. Words would never be enough.

"You're awake", was the only thing that managed to squeeze out of my throat.

Weak. Obvious. Insufficient.

The statement hung in the air, then collapsed on the ground in a dirty heap with no answer. The silence quickly became oppressive. I expected Athena to start yelling at any moment, and got the feeling that everyone else was counting on the same thing.

But instead, Hawke offered only a single, bitter utterance in response: "Yes."

Her gaze dropped and she looked away. That was the end of our reunion.

Something inside of me was dying. For a moment I thought I might be drowning, because I couldn't breath.

This closed withdrawal was a worse punishment than any of the harsh words I'd braced myself for. Silence was Athena's last defense. It signaled that an impenetrable wall deep within her had been erected, where an open door used to be.

_She does not understand. She will never understand._

I knew then, I was no longer welcome in her heart. She had spared my life, but not our love.

_I'm losing her._

_I was right. _

_I've broken her heart. Just like I said I would._

…_I'm losing her._

It shouldn't have been a surprise, but the realization was like a hammer-blow to the chest. Wasn't this the love I had been so ready to sacrifice, there under the burning ruins of the Chantry? That I'd been willing to use and forego in the name of the greater-good? Wasn't _this_ the price I'd agreed to pay?

It was; and now that we were both here, alive, in the aftermath, I realized just how terrible that cessation really was.

_She is a distraction._

_No._

Hawke was my _sanity_. And I should have trusted her. I should never have lied. She'd believed in me, much more than I ever believed in myself, and taking advantage of that faith was unj–… _unfair_. It was terribly unfair.

What delusions had I clung to, when I should have been clinging to her?

'_You are the most important thing in my life. But_ _some things matter more than my life, more than either of us.' _

I cringed. Those were the very words.

We'd gone too far already to let her stop us – distract us. It was righteous. It was necessary. It had to be done. Justice _had _to be done. No matter the cost.

_And that was true. _

But then I'd watched as Athena collapsed in a plash of bloody sand, and the victory of destroying the Chantry had suddenly seemed so very pointless.

These past seven days had been the most miserable of my existence.

She didn't know that. All she knew were the things I had told her in Kirkwall. The lies.

"Anders", Aveline called.

I didn't answer. I was still looking at Hawke, hoping she would give me a second glance.

"_Anders",_ the captain repeated, with an insistent edge to her voice.

"What?" I looked over, experiencing a twinge of distaste towards the ginger, bull-headed woman.

_She's helped to defend the mages._

_For Hawke's sake, not theirs. She is not a friend._

Aveline folded her arms sternly. "Report. You're late."

Instantly I remembered everything that had already happened today. Things I'd forgotten when Athena appeared on the other side of the shrubbery.

It was Bethany who answered. "Templars were on the road; a whole host of them - armed and mounted. We had to wait for the group to pass before we could get across."

The entire party collectively drew in a breath.

Athena's eyes narrowed. She sat up a little straighter. "H-ow many?"

"Enough to secure the city, even without the force already in place at the Gallows", I answered, gritting my teeth. _Let them come, and see with their own eyes how futile the Circle is! It will never be over until all of them have paid in blood and flesh for what they've taken! _

"Reinforcements", Fenris concluded. "Probably collected from Ostwick and the smaller settlements around Kirkwall. We will not be able to stay here much longer."

"We sh-ould, leave", Athena stated, "T-oday."

Her stammering made me wince. It was an anaemic stutter; every word was a reminder of that terrifying moment when she collapsed on the coast, lifeblood seeping thick and red into the dirt. I recalled with a shiver how close she had come to death, and the point when I'd thought she met it.

Maybe if I had recognized the signals earlier, instead of being so caught up in everything else…

Aveline looked at Athena with concern. With characteristic bluntness, the captain replied, "Hawke, you're in no condition to run."

"She could ride on your back", Merrill suggested brightly.

An irritable scowl darkened Athena's expression. "I've al-ready w-alked, out _here._"

I blanched. "You did _what_?", I demanded in horror, turning to face her.

Athena met my gaze evenly. "I _walked_", she repeated, words like sharpened steel. There was a fire in those fierce grey eyes that dared me to reprove her.

I wanted to. _Maker_, I wanted to. She'd been seriously injured; the woman should have known better than to exert herself, so soon after regaining consciousness! For someone who had spent _six bloody years_ helping me mend refugees in my clinic, you'd think she might've learned _something_ about healing! What delusional caprice had spurred her to–?

She was trying to spite me; that was it. Hawke was just enough of a masochist to deliberately ignore common-sense advice for the sake of scorn.

"Fenris helped to support her", Merrill supplemented. "Um, well… after she fell twice and almost broke her head on the rocks."

"And you didn't think about _carrying _her, did you?", I snarled, turning to face the brutish elf. "But then maybe that shouldn't surprise me. All you know how to do is kill people." I laid considerable blame for Athena's condition at this savage's feet. If he hadn't stood in my way, I probably could have closed the wounds before blood loss sent her body into convulsions and her brain into torpor. Even now, the memory of Fenris's gore-smeared face, twisted into a bestial snarl as he threatened to kill me, with Hawke dying at his feet, stirred a vivid ire. _Foul bigot! My enemy! _

Fenris glowered, looking as if he would like nothing more than to rip my heart out and feed it to the crows. "_I _am notresponsible for the murder of Kirkwall's holy sisters, whose corpses lie rotting in the sun for the sport of carrion birds and rats. Nor did _I_ allow Hawke to come to harm in the first place. There is a _demon_ to blame for that."

_I AM NO DEMON!_

"_HOW DARE YOU!"_, I roared, but the voice was no longer my own. A deeply rooted fury sprang from somewhere dark inside my soul, which, before Justice, I hadn't even known existed. Torrents of magical energy surged outward as the spirit took over, channeling my anger into a directed force that could not be contained. I was barely aware of what I was doing; it was difficult to resist completely letting such tremendous rage loose.

Fenris started to reach for his broadsword. It would do him no good. I was a force of Vengeance, and I could destroy him as easily as I'd destroyed the very foundations of the Chantry! _He knows nothing of Justice! He deserves to die! They _all _deserve to–!_

"AN-DERS!", Athena snarled with surprising volume, rising to her feet.

She shouldn't stand so quickly, her body was too weak.

My anger dissolved in sudden fear and I regained control as she staggered backwards. Bethany managed to steady her and sit her back down, but for a tense moment Hawke doubled over with what could only be agonizing pain. Her face went deathly pale.

The air crisp with tension. A brisk, salty breeze blew through the clearing, shaking the foliage and sapping us of warmth. I was keenly aware that my coat and jacket were not on my person.

"Athena?", I asked tentatively. I wanted to go to her side and comfort her, but the damn elf was already there.

"G-ood that you can st-ill, _he-ar_ me, if nothing e-lse", she wheezed, eyes like daggers.

"I wouldn't have hurt him", I insisted, but it was a weak protest at best and everyone knew it.

"You would have tried", Fenris retorted. "And I would have killed you."

My fists clenched, "You're welcome to take a shot at that."

Athena put a hand on the elf's arm. He turned, and she told him something quietly which I could not hear. His shoulders relaxed and Fenris's posture became less threatening. I grimaced.

"Can you do anything for her?", Donnic asked me, tilting his head indiscreetly in Athena's direction. "Make her able to stand properly?"

I shook my head. "No. Only time can do that." I faced Hawke and added hesitantly, "But I could seal the flesh wound. Then you wouldn't have so much pain to deal with."

"I d-on't need y-our help", she retorted viciously. Her fists clenched and her arms started shaking violently.

I turned away. It was maddening to have no way of easing her suffering. I could repair fractured bones and severed arteries in moments, but there was no magic in the world to mend a broken heart. The real blow was knowing I had made her this way. I had broken her, after trying so hard to keep everything whole.

"Well, ah…" Varric suggested, "Maybe we should just get back to the issue of the templars?"

When Athena spoke, her voice was hoarse with pain. "St-aying h-ere is, t-oo dangerous. W-e h-ave to, move on."

Her sister frowned, twirling a bit of black hair nervously. "But it's been a week since… since we left Kirkwall. Are they really going to be interested in trying to pick up our trail right away? Surely everyone expects us to be long gone. We could just stay in these caves until you're better; no one would be the wiser."

"We're talking about templars, here", I reminded them, the word leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "They aren't going to sit around waiting for us to turn ourselves in."

"And if they catch us on the road?", Aveline asked. "Hawke's wounds will make travel slow; and in a fight she wouldn't pose any kind of real threat."

At this, Athena's face regained some of its color.

"It's the truth, Hawke,", the captain held up her hands mollifyingly, "Whether you like it or not. I say we stay here until you stand a chance in a confrontation."

"_If_ they find us, Hawke won't be able to move fast enough to get away", Varric supplied. He'd pulled out his crossbow, Bianca, and was rubbing a bit of dirt off her stock like this was a casual discussion that didn't involve potential life and death consequences.

Athena's brows furrowed, "I d-on't intend to co-wer under a r-ock l-ike an insect to b-e, squashed. W-e'll move at n-ight. There are pl-enty of o-ther caves to h-ide in by day."

"Hawke…", Aveline started.

"I-t's a s-olid, plan", Athena snapped, "T-ell me I-'m wrong."

"It's solid", Donnic agreed.

"_Donnic!_", his wife berated sharply.

"It is!", he insisted, sounding confused.

"You heard her, everyone!", Varric declared to the group. "We have until sunset to get ready."

It was settled.

For about thirty seconds.

"And what about this _abomination_?", Fenris asked, casting me a dirty look.

"What about him?", Varric demanded, when Hawke failed to respond.

Fenris folded his arms and let out a low growl, like a rabid dog. "Will he be permitted to stay?"

Still, Athena didn't respond. She didn't even look up. It occurred to me then that maybe she thought I was nothing more than an abomination, too. Something cold seeped into my soul at the thought.

I'd hoped that my continued presence would be a foregone conclusion. That Athena would let me remain by her side because I had chosen to stay when it would have been easier, safer, and even more practical not to. But apparently that was too much to count on.

"Of course he will!", Merrill sounded genuinely appalled. "He's Athena's _husband._"

So I had the demon lover's support, at least. I suppose, things being what they were, I shouldn't be looking the gift horse in the mouth.

Varric frowned. "Why not, Broody? We're all fugitives now."

"That doesn't entitle him to our embrace", Fenris rejoined, "I tolerated his presence as long as Hawke was injured. Now she is awake. He can leave."

"_Tolerated?", _I reiterated caustically, "Pah! That's a bit of a stretch." Scarcely a day had gone by when the lyrium-addled elf hadn't tried instigating some kind of argument.

Bethany glanced at her sister, and frowned. "We shouldn't separate. Besides, Anders knows more about hiding from the templars than any of us."

Merrill was looking between the group as if she couldn't believe this was even a question. "Bethany's right! We need his help!"

Aveline shook her head. I expected the captain to concur with Fenris and propose that I leave. But to my surprise, instead of imparting condemnation, she offered, "I don't think this is really our decision. If he wants to run with us, it's Hawke's call."

Everyone turned to Athena. I tried to meet her gaze, but she would only stare at the ground in silence. The authority she'd once reveled in now seemed to be crumbling weight on her shoulders.

"Well, Hawke?", Varric asked.

She bit her lip, like she did when trying to express something difficult. "Y-ou, intended to st-ay?", she asked.

"If you'd have me", I answered meekly, spinning the ring on my third finger with anxiety.

Part of me realized how cruel it was to ask this of her. To beseech her for more trust than I had given, and more loyalty than I had shown myself capable of.

It was unjust.

And her capacity for mercy had to be long since overtaxed.

A shadow crept over her face. Athena's hands were shaking. I then watched Hawke hesitate for the second time in all the long years I'd known her. The first had been under the Chantry, when she was deciding whether or not to kill me.

My heart sank. I'd wanted to make a world where people like us could love each other without having to fear the templars tearing us apart. Now, when templars should be bringing us together, my very actions had become the wedge.

"Look, I– I know it doesn't mean much", I offered heavily into the space between us, "But I'm sorry I put you through this. I _never_ wanted to hurt you, Love." Her pet name slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

She winced, and rasped severely, "_D-on't_ call me, that."

Everything inside of me clenched painfully. "Just the same… I'm sorry.I'm _so_ _sorry_."

Athena would not meet my gaze. She stared at the ground, looking utterly crushed.

_If Hawke hasn't the heart for this fight, then she is a liability. Leave her._

_She's hurting. She needs time._

_We don't _have _time. This is she will not help us– _

Hawke started to shake her head.

_She won't. I am alone now._

Why was this so hard for me to accept? After everything I'd done, I still wanted her. I was still that selfish.

Then Bethany took her sister's hand. "Athena…"

The two Hawke siblings made eye contact. Something passed between them that I couldn't understand, and I found myself holding on to some faint hope that Athena's verdict might be overturned.

Finally, she returned her gaze to me. "I should n-everh-ave trusted y-ou. I w-on't make the s-ame mis-take again. But… un-til we're out of Kirkw-all… you can _stay_."

My heart leapt into my throat.

"What?", Fenris seethed. "But, Athena, he's–"

She held up a hand. "We st-ay together."

Fenris's jaw clenched. He cast me a look of undisguised loathing and muttered something in Tevinter, but didn't argue with her further.

"Thank you", I told Athena quietly.

She grimaced. "Y-our coat is, st-ill in the, c-ave. You'll, p-probably w-ant t-o get it."

"Oh, and I'd better go and fetch my ball of twine!", Merrill squeaked ecstatically, bouncing to her feet and running into the cave.

"Try not to get lost, Daisy!", Varric yelled after her. She had already vanished into the depths.

* * *

**_A/N: Next time I decide to try writing from the point of view of a radical manic-depressive possessed mage... stop me._**


	6. Frenemies

_Joseph_

* * *

As it turned out, the Knight-Commander was easy to find. All I had to do was follow the voice that was howling, "CULLEN, YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL! YOU EXPECT ME TO _BELIEVE_ THIS BLOODY FARCE?"

I made my way down the third floor corridor, Ser Keran at my heels. We passed several dark stains on the tiles, and a number of ominously boarded rooms with guards standing by them.

"You had fighting in here, too?" I asked.

Keran grimaced. "You might be better off asking where we _didn't_ have fighting."

I gave a short 'hmph' and turned into Cullen's office. The Commander did not notice me enter, engaged as he was with another visitor. The one who was screaming.

"These are _dangerous_ criminals! It is our solemn duty to put them down like the filthy mongrels they are. _There's nothing to consider about it!_" He was a tall man, well muscled, and had grey hair; but his back was too me so I couldn't make out any of his other features.

Cullen looked flustered. He was staring intently at the papers on his desk, fists clenched and knuckles white on the mahogany. His tone was surprisingly well controlled, "I beg you to review my report before you–"

"I HAVE REVIEWED IT!" The other templar bellowed. "_Twice over!_ Truly I find it impossible to believe such incompetence could exist in the Order from someone with your… _experiences! _ Meredith's death is nothing short of disgraceful!"

"Commander Tortan," Cullen protested, "Commander Meredith no longer stood for the Order when–"

"Silence! I am well aware of your opinion on the matter. I assure you the Knight-Vigilant will be no more impressed by it that I am!"

Cullen went rigid. "As Knight-Commander of this chapter, it is within my authority–"

"_Authority?_ You have no _authority_, boy." Tortan countered, and I could almost hear the quintessential spit dribbling off his lips as he spoke. "You inherited your Command as a result of failing to prevent your superior officer's murder. _I_, however, was officially appointed by the Chantry, and my orders supersede your own. We WILL find the terrorists responsible for this crime; you had best not expect to keep your station beyond Wintersend!"

He lifted the helmet in his hand and pulled it over his head severely, as though intending to make a statement that way, and stormed out of the room, fuming. The steel hid all of his features except for the eyes, which were narrow and green and glinting malignantly.

"Get out of my way!" he snarled, shoving me back and nearly running over Ser Keran.

"Hey!" The brute ignored me and continued tromping down the hall. Every templar standing guard saluted as he passed. I looked over at Keran, my lip curling, "Who was _that_?"

He shrugged, "Not somebody I want to be taking orders from, that's for sure."

"Yes, recruit?" Cullen asked someone in his office, sighing.

Seeing me in the doorway, the woman motioned in my direction. "The Warden is here, Ser."

He looked up sharply, toffee eyes widening. "Amell?", the Commander observed, as if stunned.

I tilted my head in greeting. "The one and only."

Time had tempered us both, but in many ways Cullen remained as I remembered him from our early days in the Ferelden Circle, when he was a timid new knight fresh out of training, and I a cocksure new mage still smoking from my Harrowing.

He had the same short honey-blonde hair, expressive eyes, and chiseled features. Admittedly, however, he didn't look much new or timid anymore. His posture was confident, despite the railing he'd just been subjected too. Cullen looked tired, but alert; grim, but not despairing. There was also a quality in his demeanor which implied he had experienced things few others could understand - things which had altered his perspective of the world.

Ruthfully, I wondered if the man's hatred for mages still ran as deep in his heart as it had during the Blight. Being captured by maleficarum and tortured to the brink of insanity had turned Cullen into a violent, irrational witch-hunter – even by Templar standards. And now he was in charge of an entire city ravaged by magic. The Maker had a strange sense of humour.

The Commander stepped away from his desk, moving forward to shake my hand. I accepted this token of equality with a little surprise. "I wasn't expecting you for a fortnight, at least," he told me. "Actually, I wasn't sure you would be coming at all."

With a grim smile, I explained, "Aye, as it happens I was already _en route_, expecting to meet Meredith and recruit from the Kirkwall Circle."

Cullen sighed, fingers rapping rhythmically against his armor, "I see. This is… well, this is hard to explain."

I nodded, watching the Commander carefully. "Ser Keran here tells me meeting Meredith isn't going to be quite as easy as I'd hoped, because she's dead."

"Ser Keran speaks the truth." He confirmed dourly, nodding to the young templar, who stood at attention. "Ah– What else has he told you?"

"The Chantry has been destroyed, the Champion has fled, and Athena is my cousin." I replied, counting my fingers.

"Then you'll have questions," he sighed.

I tilted my head as if surprised, "Oh? Whatever gave you _that_ idea?"

He didn't laugh. "This is… going to take some time", Cullen motioned to the chair before his desk. "Sit down."

* * *

When Cullen finished explaining, dead quiet filled the office.

For the past ten minutes or so I'd have my face buried in my hand and been trying not to look quite as distressed as I felt.

Finally, Keran broke the silence with a heaving groan. He had been permitted to remain present and hear the whole story at my request. "I can't believe it," the young templar stammered, "I mean, I knew Meredith had lost it… but _this_? Oh, Maker! What a disaster!"

From where I was standing, _disaster_ was a bit of a euphemism.

"Let me get this straight," I muttered, though there was absolutely nothing straight about the tale I'd just been told. "Last week, a Resolutionist mage friend of the Champion – you aren't sure _which one of them_ because you were here in the Gallows when it happened – destroyed the _entire_ Chantry in a massive explosion. Killed everyone inside... Just... _boom_. A bloody _revolution_ ensues with every single maleficar and their grandmother trying to raze Kirkwall to the ground.

"Then Meredith, who was _possessed_ by a _demoic sword_ made of _lyrium_ – ordered the annulment of the Circle, despite the fact that an apostate was to blame. The Champion tried to stop her, so she ordered _you_ to put Athena to the sword…"

"Er, yes" Cullen replied. "That's correct."

I huffed. "You relieved her of command, Meredith accused her entire chapter of heresy, tried to single-handedly slaughter every-single-one-of-you, _almost succeeded…_" I looked up severely.

The Commander ran his fingers through his curly hair. "I'm – ah – aware it's a difficult story to believe." There was a tone of apology in his voice.

"Only a bit, you know?" I snarked, rubbing my temples. I was tempted to call him a dirty liar even though the mess in the Gallows courtyard was evidence that _something_ catastrophic had happened. _And this would about do it_.

"But Athena?" Keran asked. "She was just trying to save innocent lives? You don't think she really had something to do with the Chantry, do you Commander?"

Cullen hesitated. "No. I don't. Athena was always pro-mage, but senseless killing like this was never her trademark. Meredith went too far, and standing up to her was the only honorable thing the Champion could do." He sounded as if he was still trying to convince himself.

"That Tortan fellow seemed to disagree", I said, peering at the Commander between my fingers.

His mouth tightened. Cullen moved to look out the window; the sunlight pouring through turned his armor a near blinding white. "Of course he does, and I can't honestly say that I blame him. The implications of it all…"

"This will mean war", I finished grimly.

"Yes." He looked back over his shoulder at me. There was something imploring about his expression, "You've killed an archdemon and ended a Blight, Amell. The most dangerous thing Commander Tortan has ever faced was a personification of Rage. The idea of an all out war between mages and men? That mages could even be capable of such destruction? He won't be the first to refuse to believe it."

"What does he expect you to do? Deny the truth because it's inconvenient for him?"

"I –… He wants to focus on something he _can_ control, and hope the bigger problems will sort themselves out. For now his only concern is hunting down Hawke for obstructing Meredith's idea of justice."

"Justice." I repeated dryly, shaking my head.

Ruefully, I wondered what my old friend from Amaranthine, a spiritual embodiment of the virtue, trapped in the mortal realm, would have thought of all this. The notion of him approving such slaughter was impossible to believe. Rather, Justice would surely have been appalled by the atrocities committed in his name, from both sides.

Not that it mattered much. The corpse Justice had inhabited as a host body was long since rotted away. He was dead now, if Spirits died like mortal men, or returned to the Fade.

"Alright." A heavy sigh escaped me. "Okay… Right." I drew from my reserves of mana to dissolve the persistent headache that had hounded me since Cullen started his explanation.

What on Thedas was my next move supposed to be? I was sent here to recruit from a Circle which no longer existed. And at this point, Kirkwall needed every able-bodied man and woman it could get.

Perhaps I should feel obligated to find the Champion, since Athena was my blood. But then again I'd never met her. We might as well be unrelated, and until I had more information it would be foolish to go running after her and her friends.

Besides which, this was clearly a political conflict, and Warden's weren't supposed to get involved in such matters. I'd already been formally scolded for putting Alistair on the throne of Ferelden to stop the Blight; I didn't even have a legitimate excuse to involve myself in the affairs of these Templars and Resolutionists.

And yet. Leaving the situation untouched seemed cruel, somehow. Heartless. How could I call myself a Warden if I _didn't_ assist those in need? Kirkwall needed help, and I knew I could provide it.

"Most of the city is still in shock; I can't promise being the Hero of Fereleden will keep the citizens of Kirkwall from trying to kill you for being a mage." Cullen suggested, bringing me back to the present. "Also, it's… probably best to avoid Commander Tortan if you can."

"I'll keep that in mind." I replied noncommittally. Once Tortan found out who – or _what_ – I was, it seemed more likely that avoiding him wouldn't be a question of 'how' so much as 'how long.'

"While you're here, I'll have Ser Keran serve as your escort."

Keran started. "But Ser, I'm supposed to be running a patrol in Darktown."

"Ruvena will head your patrol. That is an order, Ser Keran."

I scowled. "I know how to deal with an angry mob, Cullen." My appearance hardly screamed 'mage.' Or even 'Warden.' I could easily move alone through the city as a common traveller. Having a Templar around would do nothing but attract unwanted attention and put someone there to get in the way of my fireballs if it _did_ come down to a fight.

"It's not that I don't believe you," he replied, "because I do. But I don't trust all of my men, to be perfectly honest. I'll rest easier knowing Keran is there to explain things, should something happen."

It was clear the Commander would not be moved on the issue, so I gave a compliant sigh. "Fine. But he's buying my drinks."

I turned to look at the young templar, who smiled almost nervously. "I need to see the Chantry ruins before anything else."

He nodded, "Yes, messere. Follow me."

* * *

_SO sorry about the lack of updates everyone! Life got a bit out of hand for me the past few months, and I haven't had much time to devote to writing. Things seem to be settling down now, so hopefully I'll be back to new chapters regularly! As always, feel free to critique/comment. I'd love to hear what you think!_


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